All that remains
by WrittenInCrayon
Summary: AU: Kate Beckett was tall even in converse thinly-soled with wear; had an air of sophistication and age clad in ripped jeans and a worn leather jacket. Even now I blame my complete lack of any of these things on her natural grasp of them. The first time I met her was in an abandoned scrapyard when we were seventeen.
1. The scrapyard

A/N: I'd like to thank Devon for saying "you don't suck, people will read it" and for nagging me to send her the first draft.

Disclaimer: Castle isn't mine and nor are any characters you recognise. Characters with names like "Gorilla hands" and "the tree-trunk twins" are, and I have no regrets.

The first time I met her was in an abandoned scrapyard.

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><p>When I think about it everywhere I saw her was waiting to be taken in the same way.<p>

There was the school no one cared about; where we sat counting hours in plastic chairs scrawled with someone else's name; and later I followed her to the caravan they'd all forgotten. The living-room still decorated with faded photographs and waiting to be wiped out with the forest that grew around it, that'd be a hotel in a few years time.

The last place was her home; the place they tore down when she wasn't looking.

We watched them all fade. Caught up on newspaper articles and silent trips back to our hometown. But the thing we didn't see stolen was the most important thing of all: our innocence. Our hope that we'd discover the world the way we imagined it, that she'd be a lawyer, and I'd be happy with anyone other than her; like I told her one day when I was too angry to realise that everything we had was temporary.

The first time we met I didn't realise the importance of our meeting at a scrapyard, a scrapyard which had in fact been full with the same 200 cars for as long as I could remember. I don't think it would've made much difference if I'd known, except that maybe I would've pointed it out to Beckett who would've rolled her eyes and called me a nerd. Years later I could hear her biting back the words, when she sat smiling over Chinese and the case we never solved; hating me a little for making her feel so ridiculously happy.

Still, looking back I wish I'd known when I looked around with that oblivious confidence that this was one of the most important days of my life, maybe then I'd have thought of something better to say than "do you come here often?" Which, considering I'd walked past the scrapyard about a hundred times on my way to the last school I'd been excused from, was a pretty stupid question to ask.

She'd raised her eyebrows, so high they were in danger of leaving her face, and said "yeah. Which is why I know you walk past every single day."

Kate Beckett was tall even in converse thinly-soled with wear; had an air of sophistication and age clad in ripped jeans and a worn leather jacket. Even now I blame my complete lack of any of these things on her natural grasp of them.

"Noticed me have you?"

At that point a guy who I have always remembered as Gorilla Hands had started to approach us, "you're Richard Rogers, right? I heard you've been expelled from every private school in this area."

Beckett looked almost impressed at this news, taking in my expensive clothing and carefully gelled hair through narrowed eyes.

"You've heard correctly."

Gorilla Hands grunted, crossed his wide arms and turned to bellow something at the cluster of teenagers a stood few paces from us, a short guy with a black-smudged face joined us, "this here is Ricky-"

"Actually I prefer-" Gorilla Hands narrowed his eyes, "Ricky is great."

"He wants to try a jump or two..." He said, grinning a smile that remained me of splintering wood, and leading the way further into the scrapyard, "let's see if you're as tough as you say."

"Actually I-"

"Come on... Ricky." Her voice was smooth like silk when she turned to me, smiling catlike and dangerous, and I found myself following willingly, dragged away by some supernatural force.

Smudges wiped his face with one thin hand, smearing what I assumed was oil until the entirety of his sharp face was an off-ish grey colour, and speaking in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, "you wanna try this one here?"

"'Want' would be a strong word choice..." I mumbled, still pushed on by the hard edge of Beckett's soft green eyes, the way they were made wider still by the thick outline of black liner.

Gorilla Hands thrusted a skateboard into my arms and pushed me towards a spray-canned red line on the tarmac.

"You start here, ride up to that ramp," he said, stretching his arm into the distance, "and over those cars."

"You mean that big pile of sharp metal?"

"There're only 2 cars; it's an easy jump. Unless you're scared?" Gorilla Hands asked, wide mouth hanging open in a scowl.

"Nah, I just wanted to check." I replied confident and stupid, and got on the board. I grinned back at Kate who grimaced.

I made it shakily to the ramp, with their merging voices cheering me on (and suggesting I "run while I still can") when I fell, face down in the tarmac.

Then it was grey and foggy but not quite black, with their laughing voices getting louder and louder until I heard Kate's soft and liquid.

"I told you he couldn't skate! Why'd you make him do that?" She said, punching one of the loudest guys in frustration.

"Woah, Beckett!" He laughed, swaying slightly on size 13 Doc Martins.

"'S alright..." I slurred, lifting my surprisingly heavy head and groaning at the weight of it.

"Shut up you couldn't even jump the Kiddies Castle." She said, turning to glare at Gorilla Hands, Smudges and their large friends who were all still bellowing with uncontrollable laughter.

Sighing she knelt by my side, checking me over quickly, her cold fingers brushing away dirt and leaving flickering sparks. She winced slightly at the minor cuts on my face and hands before standing again.

"You're okay. But I want to get you checked for concision. Come on, I'm driving you to the hospital." I moaned back my protest, but Beckett, ignoring me, nodded at two of the bigger guys who hoisted me up easily and proceeded to wrap one arm around each of their tree-trunk necks.

"Careful felllas yooou droppp iit yooou payyy forit.." I chuckled thickly.

Beckett's Harley was parked at the far side of the scrapyard, propped up neatly away from the mayhem of the wreckage. The short journey there consisted mostly of a Kate determining that I was as stupid as I looked to her lying on the ground, head pillowed by Tarmac.

"Wha's th' kiddiiies cas'le?"

"That's what we call the jump you just missed."

"Whyy?"

"Because even a five year old could do it. And, a five year old who couldn't skate would've left before they ended up with a mouth full of concrete."

My tongue was too thick to reply, and I quickly forgot what I was going to say when we reached Kate's bike. I admired it the way you admire a painting in a museum; you don't understand how it was made; the detail or the time taken, and you don't know what it means to someone who really appreciates it; but you admire it all the same.

"Niicee."

"I'm glad you like it." She muttered sarcastically, throwing a spare helmet my way. I caught it with a fumbling grip and pulled it over my head.

"Think you can hold on?"

I nodded slowly. Kate had taken her place at the front of the bike and was pulling on a pair of thick leather gloves when the Tree-Trunk Twins lifted me to sit behind her. Nearly slipping off I slurred something like "'mm good." and clutched a little too tightly at Beckett's thin leather-clad waist.

"Move your hands so much as an inch and I'll chop them off, 'kay?"

I nodded into her ponytail, the thick-blackish strands of it tickling my nose, the lingering smell of cherries dizzying, and it was all I could do to hold on.

"Good." She slipped on her helmet, clicked the break off, and started the engine; the thick, smooth purr of it filling the air as the bike took off.

It was a short journey with the sound of traffic all around us and the rush of wind against us. Kate was still and confident, her thin frame morphing into the shape of the bike with ease, and as the world blurred into non-existence I felt the fog lift a little, and told her in a clear voice: "This is awesome!" And felt rather than heard her laugh in response.

When we reached the hospital car park Kate got off first, sliding from her seat with practiced skill and looking up in the time it took me to land shakily on the surprisingly solid ground.

I followed her into the hospital where brightly-coloured signs lead the way to the emergency room.

The receptionist was a pretty parent-aged blonde who eyed us warily in the queue, but froze when Kate spoke clearly and confidently.

"My friend fell off his skateboard and I think he might have a concussion."

"A doctor will see you in a minute, sit down and fill out this form please."

"Thanks." Kate smiled and lead me to one of the hard plastic chairs. And I remember thinking; that smile could end wars as well as start them.

The doctor saw us half an hour later. She lead us into a small room smelling of cleaning fluid and flowers and asked me to sit on the bed. Kate crossed her arms and watched me from the corner of the room; brushing the cutting edge of dark hair that slipped from her ponytail out of her eyes.

"Are you feeling nauseous?"

"A bit."

"Are you tired?"

"Kind of."

"Do you feel dizzy?"

"Yeah."

"What's your name?"

"Richard Castle."

She raised her eyebrows at Kate, who muffled a snort behind her hand, and continued.

"What's the date?"

"November 2013."

"I'm treating you for concussion." She said when the questions were over.

"Why?"

"Richard Castle? It says here your last name is Rogers... That, and it's 2014... She smiled sympathetically at me before turning to Kate. "Did you fill this out?"

Beckett nodded. "I used his phone to find the phone numbers. And he helped me with a few details... Maybe you should check those." She added hastily.

The doctor nodded, thanked Kate and went to call my mother.

"You named yourself after the Kiddie Castle, how fitting." She said, grinning from the edge of the room.

I sighed, learning back against the pillow. I realised then that I hadn't taken the time to look around the room. Looking now I saw the reason for the overpowering smell of flowers- potted plants: and lots of them; big and small from cacti to orchids every available surface was dotted with thick clay pots.

I looked at Kate after a moment, the leaves of one particularly large fern skimming her ear. I watched her watch me until she raised one eyebrow in silent challenge.

"So, tell me... what's a nice girl like you doing in a crowd like that?"

"Seriously? That's your line? And what makes you think I'm a nice girl, anyway..?" She said, biting her lower lip hard and smiling like she had a secret.

My eyes were glued to the trapped white flesh of her bottom lip when I blurted out "something in your eyes."

She faltered, blinking too fast, her stance turning liquid for only a moment before she managed to compose herself.

"You can hardly talk about my friends considering two of them peeled you off the ground half an hour ago."

"You make a fair point." I considered. "It just doesn't make sense to me. They didn't brainwash you? Or at least pay you to hang out with them?"

"Like a prostitute?" She said, crossing her arms.

"No. Like an escort." I grinned back.

"No." She said, giving me a look that could turn Medusa to stone. "To be honest it doesn't make much sense to me either. But I have fun with them, and they don't tell me to change." She picked at the edge of one black nail too-casually, opting for bored but I knew better, wrote a novel in the words that slipped away.

"Your parents?" I asked quietly.

She nodded slowly; hesitantly.

"I can understand that."

The swinging door started us both, "your mother will be here in soon. You can wait for her in reception." the doctor said, barely looking up from her files.

I thanked her and we left, closing the thick white door with a click.

"If you're okay I think I'll go. My parents will kill me if I'm not back by eleven." Kate said when we were sat in reception a few minutes later, cringing when she looked over at the blinking desk clock.

"Yeah. I'm good. Thanks for driving me here, Beckett." I said, remembering her name but not mine.

She smiled, shyly almost, and turned to leave, "just never try to skateboard again, okay Castle?"

Laughing at the nickname I replied "deal. And then she was gone, and looking back I can see that I was too.

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><p>AN: I hope this makes your Castleness week a little less painful, (the spoilers are slowly killing me one by one). I have big things planned for this fanfic, and as always your support means a lot!


	2. St Christopher's school

The next morning I decided over my overflowing bowl of Cocopops that I would enroll at St. Christopher's public school.

The meeting a week earlier with my headmaster, who if you ask me was about as privileged and illiterate as the boys he taught, ruled that I was to be excused from the last private school in the area, and sent to a public school of my and mother's choosing.

Ever since she collected me from the hospital mother had been even more dramatic than usual, reciting my many woes in a 20 minute monologue, and instructing that I decide on a school by the next morning. Which is why, having completely forgotten this conversation until the moment I heard my mother's footsteps clicking on the hardwood floor, I rushed to find the list of schools. I found it buried deep in the pile of newspapers and unopened letters, that draped over the kitchen table like the tablecloth we didn't have.

A moment later I turned to see my mother swaying in the doorway. Today she was dressed in a long fur coat and black beret. This striking hat, I noted, was topped with a peacock feather that flickered like a glossy blue flame with her every resounding step.

I slowly placed the list on the table, positioned my cup of coffee over it casually. My mother patted the hairspray-stuck ends of her hair and folded into the chair opposite me.

"So Richard, have you decided on the next school to be blessed with your presence?" She asked, the knowing lift of her lips tugging a Hollywood smile.

"Of course" I grinned through a mouthful of cereal. Slowly I turned back to the kitchen table and the list of schools, lifting my coffee cup and leaving a thick liquid circle around one of the schools.

"St. Christopher's." I said.

The halls smelt of sweat and Friday's chicken curry. The missing undertones of expensive disinfectant that haunted the halls of every other school I'd been to was abundantly clear, but that was the only difference. The bell rung shrill and impatient, my peers flowing through the opening doors the way ants flee a burning nest.

I got to my first class fifteen minutes late.

The blurred eyes of my peers rose, took in my disheveled appearance and recognised me as one of their own, and I remembered why I left my last school. By the time I found an empty seat I was already plotting my escape through an open window or a carefully played distraction.

The first empty space I saw was next to a guy so deeply asleep he might as well be sedated, and a girl with oval eyes and dark hair that brushed the sharp bones of her shoulders when she glanced up at me and froze.

"Castle?"

"Beckett." I grinned, sinking into the too-small chair next to her and leaning on the too-small desk too-casually, feeling more than the rushing of a rapidly beating heart; feeling what I was sure where the early signs of heart failure.

"What are yo-? What are you doing here?"

I laughed "good to see you too"

"Seriously."

"You heard I got kicked out of all the private schools around?"

Kate nodded impatiently.

"I'm making my way around public schools now."

She raised her eyebrows septically, "You're really lowering your standards, Castle, honouring a mere public school with your presence."

"I know." I replied sincerely, "times are hard Beckett."

"Why here though? She asked, leaning closer, sharp features lined with sarcasm "Was it because of Curry Fridays? Apparently we have the best curry in the city."

"Was that what that smell was? I thought something had died. Actually," I paused dramatically, "it was fate."

Her corner of her lips seem to lift of their own accord, and she bit down hard. "Fate huh? Did fate tell you to put on that shirt this morning?"

I laughed loud and echoing in the silent room, our oblivious teacher carried on flicking through the PowerPoint, pausing only to murmur something about rhyme schemes.

Kate smirked, chewing at her penlid a little too harshly, "I think fate might just have it out for you Castle."

"Fate brought me to you didn't it?" I replied with too much seriousness.

Our teacher, bell-shaped with a ringing voice to match, interrupted Kate's silence just when I thought I might say something stupid, and that was the first time that I truly appreciated literature.

Twenty minutes later our teacher had set our task and retreated to the staff-room, I guessed to top up his large mug of strawberry tea, leaving the class to not analyse the set of poems he'd left on our desks.

"Why did you get kicked out of your last school?" Kate asked.

"I corrected the spelling on every graffitied surface with red permanent marker"

Her laughing eyes narrowed.

"And drew little sad faces and wrote 'nice try' and 'keep working hard' next to them."

"Of course you did." She smiled wide around her penlid.

"If I'm being honest I'm glad I got kicked out; they should be praising me for my dedication to the English language, not punishing me."

"Okay Castle." She squinted at the poem on her desk, made a note on the page.

"No, seriously! Like look at this poem." I said, pointing at 'Schoolboy' by William Blake, "he gets it, he gets how school traps you; how it restricts you."

The guy on my other side snored loudly and I nodded frantically, "see? He gets it too!"

Kate crossed her arms, assessing me again.

Her eyes were a swirling blur of colour in the bright light of the classroom; like mixed paint on an artists palate, and I forgot I was supposed to be saying something.

Then Kate got up, grabbed her tattered jean jacket from the back of her chair, and slung it over her back, the tips of her fingers dragging it through the air like a cape when she sashéd out of the room.

I watched her open-mouthed, thinking numbly of the envy of the thousand models she just put to shame with the easy sway of her footsteps.

She turned, eyebrow and lips lifting in union, "Well? You coming, Castle?"

I got up too fast, knocking the plastic chair to the ground with a resounding crash, and nearly ran to catch up with her. "Where're we going?"

She smiled knowingly, "Somewhere that would make Blake proud."

I couldn't argue with that.

We walked the long road away from school; past small shops with drawn shutters, and wide pavements with empty crisp-packets, and our footsteps echoing for miles.

"Are we going in here?" I asked when we reached the amusement park about a mile from our school, she shook her head, smiling, and walked faster.

A few minutes later Beckett stopped outside a kiddies park, grinning widely. "I think this is more your suited to your age-range, Castle."

It was a small park, probably one of the smallest I'd ever seen; with a rusty swing-set and the seats of the see-saw covered with gum and more miss-spelt graffiti than the desks of all the schools I'd attended combined.

I stopped walking, nearly crashing into the low metal gate. Kate looked at me, and I looked back at her; happy and smiling and waiting for me to say something. And then I laughed, and once I started I couldn't stop, gasping breath falling away like something I could live without.

Kate watched me with all the sharp control she had even back then, with the look she gives me now when I eat whipped cream out of the can. All these years later it slips, and she looks at me like she's only just realised I'm there, and she strokes my cream-coated upper-lip, slips the finger into her mouth around her smiling teeth, the bounce in her feet and the sway of her hips the same as it was when we were 17.

I followed Kate's lifting, swinging, falling action over the gate, but never having possessed her easy grace, slipped and fell into the grass with a yelp. Kate looked at me lying there, lost in the lifting, uncut grass, and her tight-lipped control slipped and broke apart, her mouth falling open on a laugh like falling rain.

"Help me up?" I asked through bursts of breathless laughter.

I grinned when she offered a hand, grasped it firmly in mine, and pulled her into the grass. Kate gasped, falling in slow-motion and then fast-forward, and then time just stopped; the edges of my body fitting into the curves of hers and her laughing breath dancing hotly on my neck.

She lifted her face slowly, smiling shyly with her legs bracketing mine, her hair draped like a dark curtain around us, beams of light shining through in streaks.

"Hey." I said, because I couldn't think of anything better to say.

"Hey." She said back.

Kate looked at me, but she didn't move, it was after several stretched minutes that she finally spoke, "Don't overthink this, okay?"

Before I had a chance to reply she had tilted her head down to mine, the soft edges of her hair brushing the grass.

Kate smiled, and I felt the smile on her lips when she kissed me, catching my mouth and the breath I'd been holding with hers, the barely there touch of her lips on mine soft and slow and fleeting. And I thought I'd never breathe again.

She pulled away slowly, and got up too fast, eyes glittering and wide when she shouted "race you to the swingset!" And ran without tripping on the straggling ends of her laces.

I followed her like I always have, speechless for only a moment before I dragged myself up and chased her across the park.

We stayed on those swings for two hours, feeling like we were flying and then falling twice as fast.

I looked up at Kate, her long legs splayed out in front of her, and toes pointed in scuffed boots when she lent into the wind like she had no fear of falling. And I remember the feeling of rushing and flying and falling that had nothing to do with the swing-set and everything to do with her smile.

She slowed after forever, feet buried in the thick grass and eyes watching the distance, and then she grinned, a soft and slow, and stretching like the unlimited horizon ahead of us.

Kate jumped up abruptly, walked into the distance with clear direction.

I sat still, watching her, not knowing if I was supposed to follow. A few minutes later Kate came back with a skateboard in her hands.

"I saw it from the swingset, I guess some kids must have left it here... I'm going to teach you how to skate so that next time you decide to try you don't break your neck."

I laughed, "sounds like a plan."

A little while later I was balancing on the lost skateboard facing, with my hands gripping Kate's while she dragged me carefully sideways.

"I don't understand why we're doing this." I muttered, teeth gritted over the difficulty of not falling.

She raised her eyebrows sternly, "you need to feel what it's like to move on a skateboard before you can ride."

I nodded, because she sounded kind of like Yoda, and let her continue to lead me across the strip of Tarmac that broke up the grass. A few minutes later I progressed to watching her ride, the easy, flowing motion I was sure I'd never replicate. And then I followed her hands on my waist when they moved me to face forward on the skateboard. It took a few attempts, but eventually I managed to make it halfway across the Tarmac before I jumped off to the sound of her laughing.

"I can't do this." I declared when it was starting to get dark.

Kate's hands on my waist tightened when she replied "you know we could always cuddle, Castle."

I let out a shocked laugh and she grinned against my cheek.

"As appealing as that sounds, I'd rather make a deal."

"A deal?"

"Call it a happy compromise."

Kate shifted, folding her arms impatiently, "I'm listening."

"For each attempt I make to skateboard there and back I get an answer."

"Okay," she said thoughtfully, "but you've got to answer the questions too."

"Deal."

I climbed back on the skateboard with newly found determination, skating a few paces and then tripping. I tried a few more times before I reached the end of the line; I repeated this process 4 more times after that.

"What's your favourite TV show?" I asking, having joined her on the almost-mobile swing-seats.

"Nebula 9." She replied automatically, eyeing the scuffed edges of her shoes that peaked out of the grass.

I grinned, "Seriously?"

"Shut up." She scowled back, and it was adorable, but I thought about how she'd probably push me off the swing if I told her and pursed my lips hard.

"Firefly." I said.

"Never seen it. Cats or dogs?"

"Watch it. Dogs."

"Watch nebula 9. Cats."

"Not if you paid me."

I paused, thinking carefully before breaking into a wide grin when I decided what my next question was. Swinging sideways I nudged Kate with an eager smile. "Believe in love at first sight?"

Beckett rolled her eyes, nudging me back harder. Laughing I gripped the handles of the swing to stop myself from toppling off.

"No. Absolutely not." She said.

"Yes; absolutely yes. Zombie apocalypse, could it happen?"

"Seriously Castle?" The-whipped-cream-eating-glare again. "No way."

"Yes! I have a survival guide and everything!"

Kate sighed, "Of course you do. Tea of coffee?"

"Coffee." I said.

Kate caught her bottom lip between her teeth and repeated, "Coffee."

She looked up and I looked down and our eyes met for a moment too long, smiling at this small thing we had in common. And I'm not sure why it mattered so much; I'm not sure why any of it mattered, but in that moment it felt like everything made sense. In the darkening light we could pretend that the swing set wasn't rusting; that the see-saw wasn't illustrated with poorly-spelt graffiti, and that this moment was anything more than a soon-to-be fading memory.

We both jumped when Kate's phone jingled. She retrieved it from her coat pocket and groaned, "I should go home, my parents are wondering where I am."

I realised then that I'd forgotten I even had a home to go back to.

"Me too." I said after a while. Kate nodded, rising from her seat next to me.

She looked almost sad for a moment, dark hair shielding the majority of her face from mine, and then she looked up, features set with her decision and said, "we don't have English tomorrow, but meet me at the gates after school?"

I nodded, probably after too long, everything but the beat of my heart slowed by the mere idea that Kate Beckett wanted to see me tomorrow.

"Beckett?" I said, when she was halfway across the park.

"Yeah?"

"What's your name? Your first name, I mean." I felt shy and nervous, and like it didn't matter, but I felt like when she smiled tilted and beautiful, and her eyes widened and crinkled around the edges, that I needed something softer than 'Beckett' to call her by, even if it was only in my head.

"Kate." She said, and I remember thinking that 'Kate' was perfect.

"Until tomorrow." I called out, a moment before she was swallowed by the darkness

I could hear the smile in her voice when she replied, "Goodnight, Castle."

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><p>AN: Okay so before I say anything else, HOW AMAZING WAS THE TIME OF OUR LIVES?!

*Coughs* Thank you to those of you who reviewed, followed and favorited last chapter! I know that some of you found last chapter a bit strange, but I hope it was a good strange!

I thought it'd be fun to set a fic in a time where Kate is disinhibited and carefree, and the idea of rebel teenage Beckett is my favourite thing ever. In later chapters I will probably time-jump to season 1 of castle so I'd love to hear what you think about that idea and generally how you feel about this story so far because I know it's kind of different...

By the way, Castle and Beckett are the same age in this fic and Johanna is still alive at the moment, just in case there's any confusion.

This was mostly a filler chapter, so I hope it wasn't too boring and that you'll stay tuned for next time- I'm pretty excited about the next one!


	3. The caravan

I spent the whole of the next day teeming with nervous anticipation, watching the clock from the moment I sat down in my first lesson until the final shrill bell announced the end of the day.

When I arrived at the meeting point Kate was leaning against the gate like the grounds had been build around her. She grinned when I approached and walked up to meet me with a few long strides

"You wanna see something weird?" She asked.

The relief at seeing her washed over me, and I realised I'd go anywhere she asked; follow her to prison and break her out just as fast, "Always." I said.

Half an hour later we were surrounded on all sides by row upon row of velvety green-topped trees.

Stumbling over yet another fallen branch I asked, "Is the thing you wanted to show me athletes foot? Because I think I'm getting close."

"We're nearly there Castle..." She paused, and then her lips stretched into a wide smile and she shouted, "Look!"

In front of us stood an abandoned caravan, an illustration of golden rust swirled around the two glass-less windows and the sinking roof was blanketed with heavy emerald-green moss. It's elegant structure took up most of the clearing, a serene glow of sunlight seeping through the trees like a spotlight.

"Wow." I said.

Kate bit her lip shyly, and I realised how special this place was to her; that she was showing me part of herself. I held my breath as she led the way inside.

The inside of the caravan was just as amazing; colourless photos aged on the crumbling bookshelves, old deck chairs stood timeless on the grass-carpet covered with so much ivy that they were soft and green, and an earthy bookish smell lingered in every dusty corner.

Later I'd transform the caravan into a mansion in my first ever book; describe twirling staircases and glittering chandeliers in the grand halls of the place we worked to solve our first mystery; over time that abandoned caravan would become our mansion. That was the first place that Kate could forget her perfect parents' high expectations, and I could forget my absent mother's lack of them: it was the first place that had felt like home.

"God this place is amazing." I turned to Kate, grinning "My mum would hate it so much." Carelessly I ran a fingertip over the heavy layer of dust that covered the dashboard, it came away easily, glittering like fairy dust on my skin.

"So would mine," she stood taller and jutted her chin forward in a fairly accurate impression of her mother, "'Katie this whole caravan's a health hazard!'" Beckett paused, smiling at something she wouldn't say out loud.

"What?"

"No, it's nothing."

"What?" I repeated.

"I was just thinking that my mum would like you." I grinned smugly and Kate rolled her eye before going on, "My dad though... He wouldn't like you, you know, even if you weren't an annoying 9 year old."

"Thanks!" I said, laughing.

"Well he's not going to like the random guy who hangs out with his daughter, is he?" She said, shrugging.

"I would've thought he'd be used to that."

Kate shifted, her dark hair curtaining her face, but not before I spotted the colour that had painted her cheeks; a dusty pink that made my heart clench in my chest.

"It's not like he's had much experience with... scaring off possible suitors." She mumbled.

"Seriously?" I gaped at her, "Oh come on, what guy has ever turned you away?"

"If you haven't noticed I'm not exactly the most feminine girl around. Apparently most guys don't like knowing their girlfriend could beat them in a fist fight."

I nodded sympathetically. Kate ducked behind one of the plastic chairs, and turned her back on me until I touched her arm and she stopped, looking up slowly.

"You deserve better than douches whose pride rides on some kind of stone-age idea of masculinity." I said firmly.

Kate smiled shyly. "You're beyond that though?" She asked, quirking one eyebrow in that knowing look I can imagine her giving our kids one day when they ask her why they can't eat jellybeans for dinner.

"Oh yeah! I have no doubt that you could take me. And I like to look after my appearance and there's nothing wrong with that." I shrugged.

"And you can't skateboard, and on the way over here you jumped a mile because a car splashed us."

"I like these shoes." I paused, "But this isn't about me."

"No, specifically it's about you being metrosexual." Kate teased, her eyes glinting with her smile.

"Not quite..." I took a deep breath and turned to face Kate completely, holding her gaze as I spoke firmly, "It's about how the best thing about spending time with someone is solving their mysteries; memorising every word of their story. And if someone doesn't care enough to look past traits which they ignorantly see as unfeminine then they don't deserve to see you."

Kate bit her lip over a smile and sighed, "As nice an idea as that is I'm not that interesting anyway. And I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's no story here."

I shook my head insistently, "There's always a story."

"It's funny you say that, because I've heard Suzzie Manis is a great... storyteller."

I groaned, "You heard about that?"

Suzzie was one of my most recent... conquests, a gorgeous fiery red-head with a smile like a rabid hyena and a laugh to match.

"Yep." Kate smirked, crossing next arms.

"Urgh." I groaned.

"That's what she said."

Kate's black-rimmed eyes widened and a thick grin spread over my lips. At the same time we burst into the kind of tumbling laughter that was still rolling away when we'd forgotten what was so funny.

After a while we managed to stop the uncontrollable outbursts of laughter that would break free every time one of us would come close to stopping, and we were left in the quiet warmth of the caravan, the slight smiles that hung over our faces the only hint of the previous outbreak.

A few hours later we were making our way back through the forest, and I was explaining how I'd been kicked out of history for supposedly starting a fight after correcting my peer's use of 'whom' when Beckett froze mid-step.

"Duck." She said,

"Wha-"

"Duck. Now. Behind that bush."

"Can't make it back to my place, Beckett?" I joked.

"Shut up." She growled, pushing me into a crouching position behind a thick bush and knelling next to me.

After a few moments a middle-aged runner stopped to stretch, resting one leg on top of a fallen branch and leaning forward.

"As much fun as this is, what are we doing?" I murmured out of the corned of my mouth.

"I thought I heard something."

"That would be the sound of tumbleweed rolling in the distance."

Kate sighed, "Castle."

"What? Not even a smile? Tumbleweed; like in westerns," I let out a sharp breath of childish frustration, "it was a joke." I added.

"Castle." She said, more firmly this time.

"No I get it, you clearly have awful taste in movies as well as TV shows."

Eyes still glued firmly to the distance Kate gasped, her palm coming to press firmly over my mouth while I mumbled something about the wrong kind of appropriate touching into her hand.

I turned to the scene ahead of us at the sound of heavy boots on cracking branches. Two men in black ski-masks and the body-type I would describe as 'chimney-shaped' stepped into the clearing on solid steps.

"Well that can't be good." I muttered into Beckett's hand.

The scene in front of us unfolded with quick, precise movements; the rapid spin of the runner to face the men, his shocked expression and rushed pleas. The shorter of the two pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it at the runner, pulling the trigger while he was halfway through asking them why.

It only took one shot. One silent shot and he was falling.

We jumped closer together at the empty sound, glimpsing the swirl of blood that seemed to fall away the moment before he fell with a heavy thud, the branches and leaves cracked around him, rising up like memory-foam and falling twice as fast.

Kate dug into her pocked for her phone, nearly dropping it in her haste, somehow she maintained that calm edge to her voice when she whispered rapidly to the police. I guess I should've known then that she'd grow up to be an extraordinary homicide detective.

At the sound of sirens the two men ran off in opposite directions, one reaching to pick the bullet and wallet from the victim like he was pulling weeds.

Kate rushed forward when they were out of sight, pressed her fingertips to the runner's pulse-point.

"Is he..?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Dead?" She asked quietly, giving such a small nod I almost missed it, "yeah."

The police arrived with blazing torches and sharp orders, clumps moving around the runner and pasting yellow tape in strips. After they'd taken our statements and realised we couldn't describe the men we were thanked for our time and told to go home. It was then that looked over at Kate for the first time since she'd confirmed the runner as dead. She was paler than usual, silent and shivering and avoiding my gaze. I'd give her some space, I decided after a moment, gave her the walk out of the trees to catch her breath.

"Beckett..." I said when we were stood on the road outside of school again.

She blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a dream. Her eyes were dark, flickered away every time I tried to catch them with mine.

"I've got to get home." She muttered, started to walk away from me.

"Kate."

She didn't turn, her usual calm confidence replaced by something far darker.

The Kate I knew was carefree and impulsive. Years later she'd be a different person, her tilted smile weighted and our sidelong glances veiled by the past, and it'd take a while; I'd have to scratch and claw for every inch, but I'd find her again, falling deeper with every fraction of the person I fell in love with.

Every time she walked away from me since I remembered that first night, and every time since I've chased after her like I did that very first time, knowing it's worth every step.

* * *

><p>That night I found myself standing on the silent street outside Beckett's house, not knowing yet what I'd say or even why my feet had taken me there when my mum told me that she was going to the theatre for the night. I was uncharacteristically dissatisfied by the prospect of takeout pizza and a mouthful of whipped cream for desert, and found myself walking to Kate's house long after it had started to get dark.<p>

A thick welcome mat crunched under my feet and the porch light shone down like a spotlight when I reached the door and knocked.

When the door swung open a hearty glow was emitted from it's frame, a tall man with wrinkles rippling around the pools of his eyes held the door open.

"Can I help you?" He smiled kindly.

"Hi, I'm Rick, I'm a friend of Bek-Kate's... And I was wondering if she's around?"

His eyes narrowed and the ripples sharpened. I realised then where Kate got her eyes from- and her glare. Mr. Beckett took in my expensive jeans and carefully combed hair sceptically, "you don't look like one of Katie's friends."

"Thank you." I replied automatically.

"Jim, who is it?" A soft female voice called from inside the house.

Joanna Beckett was ten-times more intimidating than Jim despite being a foot shorter; her stance was almost identical to the one Kate had imitated earlier, her back straight and head held high, and there was something about her knowing brown eyes that made me sway on my feet. She stood close to her husband in the doorway and they shared a look weighted with more adoration than I knew was possible.

"You must be Rick." Johanna's voice had the same underlying steel as Kate's. I stiffened when she paused, her eyes skating over me, their flickering reminding me of the way a computer de-codes a sequence. Then she smiled, tilted and familiar and asked, "have you eaten?"

"Thanks but I don't want to intrude-"

"Oh no it's not intrusion at all." She motioned me into the warm house, calling out as she did so "Katie!"

"Castle." Kate said.

I looked up to see a very angry Kate Beckett, her usual dark attire, tonight in the form of baggy pyjama bottoms and a long sleeved shirt, was broken up a shock of pink fluffy socks.

"You left your pen." I said pulling a Biro out of my pocket and offered it to her.

"That's not my pen." She said without looking at it.

"Rick is staying for dinner." Her mother said smoothly, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

Kate and her father sent me matching scowls and I grinned back.

Dinner was delicious homemade spaghetti with thick slides of garlic bread. We ate in the over-sized dining room that lead on from the kitchen. The glowing orange walls were dotted with framed faces, and a mixture of comfortable furniture that was so different to the pristine glass surfaces and empty space that made up my home.

The meal was broken up by polite conversation about what I was studying in school and how Kate and I met. My recollection of our first encounter brought around bouts of laughter and catlike smiles, and even Jim seemed to lighten at the knowledge that his daughter was so far out of my league.

After helping to clear the table, Kate and I retreated to her room. It was a small space, her double bed covering the majority of the hardwood floor, and fairy lights draping like stars from the tilted ceiling. Posters covered three of the deep-purple walls, and the other was blocked entirely by a heavily-stacked bookshelf, overflowing with photos and books I promised I'd examine later.

"Cool room." I said, my voice slow with the effort of trying to remember every aging face staring back from the photos, the name of every band I'd search later on YouTube.

"Thanks."

Then we were silent for a moment or two, the flickering of a tiny broken bulb the only movement for what felt like hours. Kate sunk to sit at the edge of her bed and I moved to join her.

"You want to talk about it?" I asked finally.

Kate let out a long sigh, "Not really." and then we were silent again.

"It's just... It happened so fast, you know? One minute he was out for a casual run and then there's a silent shot and then the lights are out and he's lying there in not enough blood." Once the words started they wouldn't stop; they fell away before I realised I was saying them.

"I know." She said.

"And I feel like it should've been louder and angrier; and there should've been more blood, or more of a fight... just more, you know? Like he deserved better, if that makes any sense. I mean he had a whole life outside of that forest and now it's all over, with a single soundless, bloodless bullet. And for those two guys it was probably just another day at work. They'll go home and the won't even think about the dead runner again. And that sucks."

"It does suck." She said slowly, eyes downcast to where our feet hung off the bed; mine big in plain socks and hers small in fluffy ones.

"Thanks for your input." I joked, nudging her foot lightly with mine.

Kate shifted to cross her legs under herself, turning so that she faced me and I mirrored her actions, "No I mean it. It really sucks. And what makes it worse is that the police said that because it was a professional hit it won't be a priority case, that they may never find the killer."

"That also sucks," I added, "If had a shot of vodka for every part of this that sucked I'd be so drunk right now."

Kate seemed to consider this idea as she jumped from her seat next to me and paced her bedroom floor impatiently. She cupped her chin for a moment with her left hand, an odd thinking pose that I'd never seen before which she paired with the frowned-brow frown she gave me almost every time I spoke.

"Are you considering where to get the vodka, or trying to solve a difficult maths problem? Because I'm not great at maths, but my mum's got a pretty full liquor cabinet and I know where she keeps the key." I offered.

"I was just thinking... that we should solve the running guy's murder." She announced.

"Seriously?" I asked, meeting her steel-embellished stare with my awed one.

"Well, why not? The police said themselves that they might not catch the killer and we saw it happen."

"Beckett-" I said.

"Oh come on Castle, we can't just let them get away with it! Don't you want to know what happened? Why he was killed? Who he was? I know I'm not going to be able to sleep until I know why!"

I looked at her for a moment, allowed the seconds to stretch with her standing tall in front of the army of other Becketts that watched from their faded photos.

Eventually I spoke, "I was just going to say that I'm way ahead of you. I wrote down what we saw when I got home so I wouldn't forget anything... When it's quietened down a bit and the yellow tape's been cleared away we could go back see if we can find anything they haven't. Maybe find out enough to find some people who know the runner... Like undercover cops but so undercover that we're in no way cops."

Kate paused, her folded arms unraveling and her thickly rimmed eyes widening. She seemed to realise that her mouth was hanging open after a moment or so, at which point she closed it quickly and grinned at me without her teeth.

I grinned back, brain swimming with possibilities, "This is going to be so cool! I mean I wonder why he was killed? I bet he was a CIA. Or had intel on new-found alien life that he was threatening to release to the word... Or maybe he was in the Russian mob, or knew the whereabouts of an ancient Egyptian artefact, one that curses everyone who looks upon it's inscriptions!"

"Castle."

"No you're right; it probably wasn't because of an ancient Egyptian artefact."

Kate laughed, rolling her eyes at the theories that wouldn't improve with time.

I thought for a moment and then said, "You know nothing happened between Suzzie and me?"

Kate trapped a smile a moment to late, her eyes sparkling when she asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"I just thought you should know." We shared a mutual smile before I said, "I should probably get home, but if you're still worried you won't be able to sleep I can always stay here and help."

She threw a balled up t-shirt that missed my head by an inch and called out "Goodnight, Castle!" When shut her door on her voice and the deep warmth of her room. I called out my thanks to her parents who wished me a goodnight in return. And then I was outside, walking into crisp night air, heavily strung with anticipation and flickering stars.

* * *

><p>AN: Hi again, sorry this took so long to post- I've had such a busy week! It was my Birthday last weekend so I wasn't able to do a lot of writing, and then this week they piled us with coursework and revision. You guys were great last chapter and as always I really appreciate support, so I hope this was worth the wait!


	4. The Hotel

**A/N: Hi again! I hope that you are all still enjoying this and aren't just getting annoying update notifications every week haha. **

**There are references to the TV show Firefly again in this chapter (which is awesome and you should watch if you haven't already), and the lyrics to In My Veins by Andrew Belle are used. I own nothing- Firefly would be still airing now if it were up to me! **

**Your feedback, as always, makes me grin like an idiot.**

* * *

><p>In the weeks that followed, Kate and I built up a routine that we followed like clockwork. We'd hardly see each other at school, sit with different friends at lunch but catch up in English. There I'd write the story of our suspect and she'd smirk over at me, throwing bits of paper at the snoring guy I discovered after a few lessons was called Keith, and was just as interested to find out how many throws it took for him to wake up, so long as we made sure our teacher didn't catch him sleeping and us bouncing bits of paper off his head.<p>

When the final bell rang we'd rush to meet at the gates, we'd stop by the coffee shop on our way, and then we'd make our way into the forest, tripping over fallen branches and reciting the details of our day. Inside we'd crack away pieces of the puzzle, putting it together and pulling it apart. Every detail inscribed in the notebook that should be filled with maths equations, but became my first novel, and the open doors of the biggest cupboard in the caravan, that became her first murder board.

On Saturday morning we'd go back; spend the afternoon marathoning Nebula 9 and Firefly until we could quote both to perfection. And Sundays we got into the habit of going to the comic-book store early before going home to share brunch with her and her family. Over the past couple of weeks I'd found out about Kate's childhood; how she spent the last summer working to pay for her motorbike, and how her grandad taught her the art of illusion, but she preferred the kind of magic you could see.

One Sunday morning Kate's parents were away at a retreat, and I invited her round to share breakfast with me and my usually-hungover mother, who having gotten to know Beckett from their few short encounters and my stories had pretty much started planning our wedding, and had declared the Saturday before, "tomorrow morning, with any luck, I will be experiencing the after effects of a good night."

Which was how Beckett and I found ourselves making bloody Mary's at 10am the next morning.

"You sure this'll work?" Beckett asked, wrinkling her nose as she added yet more chunks of tomato to the blender.

"Definitely. And if we don't find anything about the case it's a great excuse to see you in a dress." I grinned, wiggling my eyebrows.

Beckett slapped my hand as I reached for the lemon, hiding a smile. She nodded thoughtfully. "Our victim attended these events twice a year, we're bound to meet someone who'll be able to tell us a little about his background, maybe even shed some light on why he was killed." She mused, flicking the edge of her stripy scarf away from the blender and adjusting her beret before wiping the chopping board with a wet cloth. "Your mum won't mind giving away her tickets?" She asked.

"One of her... admirers" I shuddered, "gives them to her for free, and she says she doesn't believe in charity. I'm pretty sure she'll be happy to swap them for an ice pack."

Kate raised an eyebrow, watched me pour a generous amount of vodka into the blender, "How can she not believe in charity?"

I took up the pose of a model, leant delicately against the counter and mimicked my mother's carefully pronounced dramatic drawl, "We make our own way in this world, Richard, we don't beg for anything.'"

Beckett shook her head at me and laughed, turned back to the uncut-lemon on her chopping board, "Ah..." she paused "Whether this helps or not I think I'd prefer to have the headache than drink this." She said as she added the final squeeze of lemon juice to the scarlet smoothy.

I laughed, pouring the final product into a large glass and watching the red liquid jiggle. I licked an escaping drop off my finger and winced, "Agreed."

When we opened the door to my mother's room she was sprawled dramatically on top of her red silk sheets, one arm splayed above her like a fallen heroine.

"Richard, Katherine." She waved us into her room with the graceful flick of her wrist and pulled herself into a sitting position. My mother gave a long sigh of self-pity before clasping the red-filled glass Kate offered her and flashed us her camera-ready smile. "so, unless you two are here out of the kindness of your tender hearts, I assume that you want something?"

* * *

><p>I could hear them through the door as I paced to the rhythm of their dimmed speech and musical laughter.<p>

Then the door opened and all I could see was Kate. One look at her and I forgot how to breathe, and I think that was the first time that I could see her as more than my best friend who was hot in ripped jeans and testing smiles; because now she was pure fiction in a silky black dress that clung to her frame like liquid coal, her glossy hair spiralled on top of her head and lose strands licking the pale skin of her neck. Kate stood in the doorway in silver ballet-pumps, soft and shy in a way I'd never known her to be.

"Kate. Wow. You look... Wow."

"Yeah?" Kate smiled, and for once it wasn't catlike, but gentle in a way that made me think of a kitten. And she looked so uncertain when I nodded that my heart melted a little further.

On our way out of the door Beckett stated that she felt "shiny" after the celebratory champagne my mother had poured before allowing us to leave. I laughed at the Firefly quote as I locked the door but nearly dropped the key, my hands too shaky to find the keyhole.

I tried to focus on the knowing quirk of her lip, the impatient tapping of her feet when it took me too long to open the door; trying to focus on the fact that this was Beckett. I tried to reason-away the motion-sick butterflies that burst to life when she brushed my hand with hers, but not even the familiarly chipping black nail-varnish could dull my nerves. If anything the reminder that this was Kate; my syfi-quoting comic-book-reading best friend, as well as the most beautiful person I'd ever seen in real life or on TV, forced the butterflies into an energetic tango that I feared would never stop. Even after all of these years I find it hard to say when the butterflies stopped dancing, in my mind the music never stopped.

* * *

><p>We got into the hotel using the VIP passes my mother gave us, having made our way there on a crowded bus where we received more than a few questioning looks. Within a few minutes of arriving outside the towering, glass building, we were stood watching the sea of well-dressed strangers ripple and break into a roar of organised claps web finally the ribbon was cut after a long, well-pronounced speech.<p>

"Do you see his wife?" Kate asked over the noise.

Over the past couple of weeks we had found out through newspaper articles and google that the runner was the owner of 'get a life', a self-help business that specialised in holding empowering talks, selling over-priced books, and, apparently, killing their spokesman, Malcolm Maise. Malcolm had just turned forty and had married his high school sweetheart when they were in college. Their daughter, Cleo, was in her twenties and was in and out of the tabloids for a series of indecent exposures and... public urination. We had quickly decided that she was our best bet to grill for information.

After scanning the crowd I shook my head, grabbed two appetisers from a silver serving platter and offered one to Beckett.

She took it with a grateful smile, "thanks, I'm starving..." She took a small bite and glared at the fancy-cheese-on-a-stick, "not that this'll help... do they seriously expect us to survive off a portion this size? No wonder everyone here is skinny and annoyed." Beckett said, nodding over at one particularly irritated-looking woman, whose shrill voice was audible even from the opposite end of the hall.

I laughed, paused while I took the older woman in through narrowed eyes, "Wait a sec isn't that..?"

Kate gasped, caught on at the same moment, nearly dropping her tiny cocktail stick in shock, "his daughter!"

I nodded enthusiastically, "so Cleo finds out about her dad's murder, knows about her mother's dark past in the CIA-"

Beckett sighed and folded her arms, and I thought she was right about the portion size.

"Work with me here."

She rolled her eyes dramatically, "fine. Her mother's dark past in the CIA..?"

"Right, so she knows her mum has plenty of contacts who could get the job done, and Cleo finds it suspicious that her dad died in what seemed to be a professional hit when her parents haven't been talking much lately, and her dad's been staying late at the office..." I trailed off, watching Cleo take a large gulp from her glass.

Kate smiled, took a deep breath and carried on where I left off "And when her mum gets handed that huge inheritance and barely cries at the funeral, she starts to wonder... And tonight they barely spoke but here they are, playing nice for the cameras, because even though she doubts her mother she wouldn't want anyone knowing that..."

I nodded, "But when her mother makes a sarcastic remark about her dad's business choices and shoe sense she needs really just another drink, or maybe two..."

"Maybe she'll let some sympathetic passer-by buy her a drink or two, even if they do look a little under-age..."

"Plus the guy is ruggedly handsome, so when he shows an interest in her she doesn't want to question it, even though the girl he's with is totally checking him out." I grinned and nudged her with my shoulder.

Kate barked out a laugh but didn't question it, linked her arm through mine and said, "so Castle, can I buy you a drink?"

Cleo looked up when we approached, the edges of her airy blue dress glimpsing the floor when she shifted. From up close I could see that she was in her mid-twenties, with shadows under her heavily-made-up eyes and her grey skin coated with a thick layer of foundation.

"Hi, Cleo, is it? I'm Rick and this is my friend Kate." I offered my hand which she took with a delicate grip, and watched as she exchanged a measuring smile with Beckett.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your loss." Kate said gently.

Cleo nodded her thanks and swirled the remaining liquid around her glass. She drained it in one gulp before slamming it on the bar "Can I buy you kids a drink?"

An hour later we were still sat with Cleo, her tongue a lot looser than it had been when we first met, and as she clinked the most resent empty glass against the others. Kate said, "It must've been hard though, losing him so suddenly" she took a delicate sip of her drink and waited for Cleo's response.

"Yeah, it was unexpected to say the least." The older woman nodded slowly, eyes trained to the clutter of glasses in front of her.

"Must be difficult for your mother, after they've been together so long..." I added, careful not to look at Kate, who's piercing eyes said that I was being too obvious.

"Yeah. She hasn't said much to me, but I imagine she's grieving in her own way." She shrugged her thin shoulders, "if you ask me though, my dad was dead to her long before he was murdered."

Kate and I shared a look of surprise and Cleo carried on, forcing words out around her alcohol-induced-slur "and my grandad, well, he's happy because at least he gets the money my dad owed him."

Neither Beckett nor I spoke for a moment while we considered this. Absently I picked up one of the many decorative vases that was lined on the bar, prodded the plastic leaves with interest.

"What is he doing?" I heard Cleo murmur to Kate, who's eye-roll I heard rather than saw, if that's even possible.

"He... touches things." Kate muttered.

"The money?" I prodded, nearly dropping the vase when I placed it back on the bar.

"The money. My grandad helped him start the business, but- don't tell anyone, will you?- But the business was losing more money than it was making recently, and it looked like he may never get paid."

Kate and I decided it was time to leave when we saw her angry looking mother approaching and Cleo nearly fell off her chair in distress.

"Does that make Cleo's mum our most likely suspect?" Kate asked as we made our way over to an empty table.

"Or her grandad?" I asked. "Or, none of them killed him and an alien spaceship took him and probed him, but he knew too much, so they sent their strongest green men in black masks to... take care of it."

Kate sighed and shook her head, "considering how much we know I'm not ruling out alien abduction." She slid into an empty chair and picked up one of the disposable camera's the host had dotted randomly around the room, read the note that said 'make memories' with bemused expression, before placing it back on the table and looking up at me.

"All I know is that this is just getting interesting."

Kate huffed out a laugh that was half frustration, half tiredness, and completely adorable.

I scooped the camera from the cloth-covered table and slid it into my pocket.

"For evidence" I said when I caught Beckett's questioning gaze, "I'm tired of sitting," I declared after a moment, offered her my hand and my most charming half-smile to Kate, "want to dance?"

Kate grinned and slid her smaller hand into mine. I squeezed softly as I led her to the dance floor, admiring the perfect fit; the way the gaps between my fingers were filled with hers, and was reminded of the way our sentences finish each-other's.

I pulled her flush against me when one song ended and another begun, and I could feel her smiling against my collar-bone, her breath skirting against my open shirt, the music swirling around us and the hundreds of other guests dissolving with it.

_"__Nothin__g__ goes as planned.__  
><em>_Everything will break.__  
><em>_People say goodbye.__  
><em>_In their own special way.__  
><em>_All that you rely on__  
><em>_And all that you can fake__  
><em>_Will leave you in the morning__  
><em>_But find you in the day__"_

"I don't know why, but I've always loved this song." Kate said, looking up when I didn't say anything, her wide-green eyes searching mine and her lips lifting with her gaze.

I swallowed, "Me too." I said finally.

A few silky strands of hair had come lose, brushing her sharp cheekbones when she ducked her head shyly; I tucked them behind one ear without thinking; and it felt like we'd been this way forever. And I wasn't sure who this girl was in my arms; her body soft and and warm and melting into mine, the smell of cherries radiating for miles and the silky material of her dress grazing the floor with a smooth hush, because there wasn't a sarcastic comment or an eye-roll to be heard or seen, but I liked her; I really liked her.

I pulled the camera from my pocket with one hand and turned the dial, waiting for the resounding click, Kate looked up at the sound, her eyes dark and hazy in the blearing lights, and her coy smile bright under the camera's flash.

"For evidence." I explained when she raised one perfect eyebrow in question.

"Mmhmm..." She smirked, and there was the Beckett I knew, knowing and dark and slightly cynical. But there was something extra, a foreign confidence that I wasn't used to: and I think that was the moment Nikki Heat was born. She brushed her lips against my ear and I shivered, "I'm going to go speak to our guy's mum; she's heading over to the bar. Act inconspicuous, if that's even possible for you."

I chuckled as she pulled away, "You won't even know I'm here."

* * *

><p>"Hey." Kate said, sinking into the chair opposite me half an hour later.<p>

I looked up and smiled, "about time! I was staring to think you'd climbed out the window."

"And miss seeing your face when I tell you what I found?" she paused dramatically, and I leaned forward in anticipation "Mrs. Runner hardly inherited anything from her husband."

My mouth fell open in the amazed expression Beckett had probably hoped for, "Seriously?" I asked.

"Yep." Kate nodded. "Like Cleo said he owed more than he had."

"So, financially at least, his family wouldn't have a lot to gain out of his death, but the people he owed-"

"Would get paid in full, right."

I considered this as I watched the rows of dancing people fall in and out of time. After a moment I looked over at Kate, stirring her drink distractedly and chewing her lower lip.

"Hey, we'll work it out." I said confidently, finally noticed the dark half-moons under her eyes, the heavy fall of her shoulders, "maybe we need to sleep on it."

Kate's eyebrows shot into her hairline and she snorted out a sharp laugh, which she caught with one hand.

"Separately Beckett!" I laughed, gasping in feigned shock, deciding that Kate had either had too much to drink or not enough.

Half an hour later Beckett allowed me to lead her to the bus stop without much resistance, and when the bus drove up and we gave the tired looking driver our return tickets, Kate sat down in the first seat we came across and said, "might have to join Keith in sleeping through English tomorrow."

"I promise to throw as many bits of paper at you as humanly possible." I replied seriously.

Kate laughed and rested her head on my shoulder for the rest of the thirty-minute journey to her house, the glittering toes of her pumps tucked under her dress on the hard seat. Looking down I noticed that she'd replaced her usually thick eyeliner with a delicate dusting of silver glitter. She blinked up at me and smiled before nuzzling into my tux, her eyes drifting shut, and I remember thinking that there was a universe in her eyes. I wrapped one arm around her as soundlessly as I could, amazed when she snuggled into me when I half expected her to push me off the plastic seat.

The only other passenger was an greying old man who drunk systematically out of a tin flask for the entirety of the journey; he raised it to us when I met his eyes and took a long swig. I remember hoping he toasted to the strange well-dressed teenagers; the beautiful girl in the long black dress, and the doting guy with one arm around her and his eyes wide open despite the darkness outside; feeling like he'd never be able to sleep again. The way I remember it; he toasted to the hope that they'd make it, and I remember thinking that I hoped so too.


	5. Her house, My house

The house I grew up in was made up of white-washed walls that lacked the usual heaviness of family photos and 'welcome home' signs. Instead thick linoleum floors glass cabinets faced leather sofas, the kind that are more for declaration that comfort, because they squeak every time you move to reach for the remote.

The only time I ever really felt at home was on the days I came home to Kate making coffee from the shiny cappuccino machine, or watching TV on our 40 inch flat screen.

"Hey." This particular day I was lucky enough to find Kate waiting for me.

If you'd reminded me years later that the carefree teenager in front of me was the same Kate who nearly broke my nose after one particularly back handed comment I wouldn't have believed you. But there she was, defying all the laws of the universe with her long limbs stretched out like a cat, toes flexing in their stripy socks and dark hair flowing in waves over one bleach-white cushion.

"Hey." She grinned up at me, "Your mum let me in before she left for her show." I nodded and sat down next to her, lifting her feet and placing them back in my lap with practiced skill. Beckett's eyes were downcast, trailing over the page of whatever book she was engrossed in this time. "She said to give you her love... And to let you know that she took the key to the liquor cabinet with her."

I sighed "of course she did." Beckett smiled but didn't look up.

"What're you reading?"

Kate bit her lip over a smile, her eyes sparkling with something that looked like guilt, "umm..."

It took an moment of examining the tattered binding of the book in her hands before I realised.

"Oh my god, Beckett! Is that..?" I trailed off, grabbing the notebook out of her hands and turning the pages rapidly, "it is!" I cried out in shock. Kate took the notebook out of my hands before I had time to stop her.

"Urgh, I'm sorry... It's just I was waiting for you and it was right there, and now I'm nearly up to the point where they follow Mrs. Runner to a mysterious guy's house and find out that she's having an affair..." She said, flicking the corners of the pages impatiently, concentration lining her forehead.

I sighed and watched her for a moment. "I thought it'd be a good way to record what we find..." I could tell she wasn't listening, her eyes flicking left and right faster than before.

"Reading this... It makes me think that the wife's lover would be a good suspect... I hadn't really considered him before..."

I cringed dramatically "Please don't ever say 'lover' again. Ever..." I paused, "actually you're right... But the husband knew right? And he hadn't filed for divorce and the neighbours didn't mention hearing them fighting... Why?"

"Money? Didn't want to split it?" Beckett offered

"Remember when we 'bumped into' Cleo the other day?" I asked, recalling the day we found her whereabouts via twitter and caught her pondering over the cheap wine or the extra cheap wine, which lead into a lengthy discussion on how every penny counts.

Kate nodded impatiently.

"She said they signed a prenup." I pointed out.

"Well that would certainly give his wife motive..."

"Because she'd inherit more money after his death than she'd get if they divorced." I finished.

Kate mused this over, her lower lip trapped between her teeth and my first novel open in one hands. I shifted in my seat. "you like it then?" I asked, suddenly nervous. This was a big deal for me; the first person to read something I'd written, and even though it wasn't my story it was like for the first time she could see the world through my eyes, and I wanted to know how it looked.

"Shhh." Beckett said, having turned back to finish the last page.

I half-groaned and half-laughed, but Beckett didn't stir.

After a moment she looked up. "not that I think your ego needs stroking..."

I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively, "Oh go on Beckett! I love it when you str-" I was cut off by the heavy thump of the cushion Beckett threw at me.

I patted my hair back into place with a huff and Kate rolled her eyes and carried on, "this is actually really good." She paused, grinned with what I imagined was the feeling of the giver of the perfect gift, and grinned "you're really good."

"Really?" I asked softly.

Kate pressed the notebook roughly into my chest. "Really." She said firmly, paused, suddenly stoney-faced, "however, I do have a bone to pick with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She crossed her arms, and I knew I was in trouble; tried to record the things I'd done wrong that week-

"What kind of a name is Nikki Heat?" She raised one eyebrow in a look I'd christened 'The Beckett'.

Ah. "It's a cop name."

"It's a stripper name," she bit out.

"Well, she's kind of slutty."

Beckett groaned in distress and pulled her feet out of my lap to faced me more fully, "Change it, Castle."

I jumped off the sofa and took a few steps back, Beckett following in suit, "Wait... Hang on a second. Think of the titles. "Summer Heat", "Heat Wave", "In Heat"" I trailed off. The eager tilt of my voice seemed to make her more annoyed and the strength of her glare thickened from steel to diamond.

"Change the name!"

I ducked behind the kitchen counter, the shiny wood surface a pretty sturdy barrier between us, "No."

"Yes."

"No." I gasped out a laugh when we almost danced around the furniture.

"Change it!" Kate shouted over her own a torn out laugh.

I grabbed the chopping board to shield myself when Beckett started to throw things at me (a dishcloth, a tea towel and thank god the knives are this side of the kitchen), "No."

"Castle?!" She groaned, trying to poke me with a wooden spoon while I dodged her, absently considering taking up fencing because I seemed to have a natural knack for it.

"I'm sorry." I said; really not sorry at all. "I have artistic integrity, Beckett." I added defensively.

""Artistic integrity?"" She barked out a laugh, managed to jab me with the spoon, and I stifled a high pitched scream.

"Change the name, Castle! Today."

* * *

><p>That week we'd managed to crack the case wide open. We found various new suspects after asking one of the Runner's nosey neighbours about the family, their Intel lead to one late night stakeout and further questioning of his wife's hairdresser and a casual bumping into Cleo at the worst coffee shop in Manhattan where, I think it's fair to say- the coffee tasted like a monkey peed in battery acid, and then a trip to few pubs which she said her grandad frequents ("he has an unhealthy obsession with gin, and he won't even admit he had a problem- you know that's the first step to recovery? Admitting you have a problem"). We found out from the bartender that he'd been buying the cheap sort recently, which gave us further reason to believe the Runner owed him money, despite the hairdresser's claims that the wife's lover had a dark past, and he was, up until that point at least, our most likely suspect.<p>

That night though, Beckett cancelled our meeting at the caravan, having been out for a girl's night with Maddy the day before. Maddy was great; fun and adventurous and extremely lose. But every time they went out Kate wound up grounded the next night, so this time I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I knocked at Beckett's window at precisely 12 o'clock. I knew I shouldn't, but I paused before knocking. I could just about see inside, it was like looking at a photograph with the edges blurred, the shot centered around the perfect clarity that was Kate. Some kind of haunting music flowed out of the cracks around the window-frame and into the inky blackness around me. It was airy and lifting and kind of breathtaking. Oh. Kate was singing... And playing guitar. She plays guitar?

I was, however, painfully aware of how dead I'd be if Beckett caught me crouched outside her window, not knocking. So I sighed, and regretfully tapped the glass three times.

"Pst. Beckett!" I whispered, waving when she looked up.

"Castle?!" She jumped up from her position on the bed and rushed to open the window, dropping her guitar in shock so that it landed with a loud clang.

"What the hell are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me!"

"Maybe that's what you need Katherine, to be scared onto the right track... I hear you're going off the rails..." I said in my mother's voice.

Kate groaned and took the few long strides back to her bed while I tried to crawl through her window with an amazing lack of grace.

"This is an intervention." I said firmly.

"Castle!" She laughed, rolling her eyes and swinging her legs back into the bed "get in here! And shut the window it's freezing."

I ducked under through her window and grinned, proud of my success in climbing the fire-escape without serious injury (I did scrape my leg a little but I figured it was worth it.) "you don't want to see the banner I made you?"

"Nope." She laughed, "I've heard it all Castle. Had a pretty serious talk with my parents just now that made me want to shut my head in the oven."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." She nodded solemnly.

"So what did you get grounded for, anyway?" I asked, now sitting comfortably opposite her, propped up by one of her fluffy purple pillows.

"I got a tattoo." She said, entirely too casually.

"Seriously?" I gaped at her, looking over the exposed skin of her neck for a snake or her arms for a set of skulls, but I came up empty.

"Mmhmm... Maddy's brother wants to be a tattoo artist and is practicing and I've wanted one for ages... And, I was kind of drunk."

"Katherine Beckett!" I gasped, "What did you get?"

She bit her lip and took a moment to admire the chipping edges of her nails, I sighed and leant closer.

"Beckett." I wined, "What did you get... Or should I be asking where..?" I trailed off scanning from the painted toes of her bare feet to the lose strands that fell from her messy bun half-teasingly.

She raised an eyebrow and sighed. "See for yourself." She said eventually, shifting, her hand moved to lift the edge of her shirt just slightly so that it revealed her hip.

"Is that..?" I trailed off, couldn't find the worse to say what I saw.

My coffee order; crawled in delicate italic print on the pale, creamy skin just above her hipbone.

"Yeah." She cleared her throat in the too-quiet room, "My parents think I was so drunk that I got my shopping list tattooed on my hip." She half-joked.

I nodded numbly, and forced myself to clench my fists to stop from reaching out and touching her soft inked skin.

"What Castle?" She snapped.

I dragged my eyes away, meeting her blazing eyes; the fire not going out even as tears threatened to spill over, "No it's just..."

"It's not like it means anything." She said quickly, "I wanted a tattoo and my drunk rambling produced your coffee order. It doesn't mean anything Castle." She repeated firmly.

"Of course it does," I said at last, catching her arm and dragging her back around to face me.

Kate looked away again. And her cheeks were a pink like the skin around the tattoo.

"Hey, Beckett..." My voice softened but her eyes were trained firmly into her lap.

Even then Kate had walls built thick with fear; even before she had any reason to be scared, it was like somehow she knew more about the world than someone who was seventeen should, and she was wary of a world she didn't understand yet.

I grabbed the permanent marker she always kept on her bedside table and rolled up my right sleeve, uncapping it with my teeth. I could feel her gaze burning into my arm when I carefully wrote "Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar free vanilla" onto my skin.

"There." I said, "Now we match." I smiled and looked up from the drying ink. Kate's eyes glistened under the fairy lights.

"I know it doesn't mean anything but..." I joked.

She slapped my arm playfully and I laughed, faking a groan, "urgh, god Beckett! I just got a tattoo right there!"

Kate rolled her eyes and looked down at my arm, the lithe fingers of one hand trailing over the ink and her lips splitting into a grin.

"I know it's not permanent, but-..." I said quickly.

"No Castle, it-It's perfect." She assured me.

I smiled softly and nodded. "Caravan?" I asked after a while.

"Caravan." Beckett agreed.

She was opening the window and climbing onto the roof before I even had time to even stand up, and by the time I had landed next to the flowerpot outside her house she was already halfway down the street, strolling confidently in the half-darkness. She came back into focus under one particularly bright streetlight when she called, "you coming, Castle?"

Half an hour later we were stood outside the ageing caravan, but before we had even opened the make-shift door we'd spend weeks forming out of mangled branches we knew something wasn't quite right. There was a stale heaviness to the usually crisp night air and the leaves under our feet seemed to have shifted, crushed in a way that was unfamiliar and forceful. Beckett looked to me before touching the door softly so that it swung open.

I knew she was scarred, I could see the fear reflected in the shadows of her eyes, and she was blinking, blinking, but she wouldn't look at me.

"Kate." I said.

I couldn't say anything else, it was like my voice had been sucked away with a whoosh. In that moment I was oddly aware of the earth's turning, and the tree's leaves falling, and the wave's crashing on shores miles from the forest; it was like everything around us was alive and moving, and we were frozen; breathless in the trashed caravan.

Kate looked away from the wreckage, eyes glimmering with scared tears, that she wouldn't let fall.

Because it felt like they took a part of us when they broke the glass cabinets and cast the rickety plastic chairs on their side. That day they disrupted more than the fragile balance of glass cobwebs and velvet moss; they took our innocence and the hope that the world would be the way we imagined it, and they made us different.

"Beckett." I said.

Kate cleared her throat, and the haze around us seemed to clear a little. "I'm fine."

"No you're not... I'm not. It's okay to be scared."

She didn't say anything, but she melted into me when I wound my arms around her and nuzzled her nose into the warm skin in between my neck and shoulder. I pressed my lips into her tousled hair and held her tighter, clinging to this fragile thing we had: the only thing we had left, and I promised I wouldn't let them take it, I promised I'd hold on to us.

"Bastards." Kate muttered, pulling away to pick up one of the chairs and set it upright. And I knew we'd be okay.

I laughed, "I'm ruling out aliens as possible suspects."

"Why?" Beckett asked warily, half-turning from the photo-frame she was putting back of the shelf.

"Aliens don't need to scare us, that could just erase our memory if they wanted us to stop investigating."

"Right... This means we're close though: that something we've found points to the killer. They must be desperate if they'd risk leaving evidence just to send us a message. You think they spoke to someone we met with?"

I nodded, "yeah. Found out what we knew by asking around, decided it'd gone too far already; that they needed to make their move."

Kate nodded thoughtfully. She stood tall in ripped jeans, the murder ripped board an odd green-screen behind her. Strong and unwavering and enough.

"What do you want to do, Beckett?

She sighed, searched the glass-littered floor for the answers with her eyes, "I want to finish our nebula 9 marathon, and drink coffee with you all night, and then tomorrow I want to come back here and prove that sometimes the meddling kids win."

I grinned, "That sounds perfect."

Every time Kate refuses to back down; when she fights for the truth no matter what the cost, I feel an odd sense of pride for the girl I knew, who was scared and made the first difficult decision that night, but she chose to carry on fighting; the same way she did every time since.

"We can't go to the police." Kate said after a moment, "this goes too deep, it's clear whoever killed the runner has connections. So you can't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"Ooh so this is like a secret?" I asked excitedly.

Kate sighed, "wow you're a child."

"This is so going in the book: "detective heat and the ruggedly handsome journalist had a secret: one that could make them... or break them."

Beckett scoffed, "break them?"

"Mmhm," I grinned at her, "so you better take this seriously! We're officially partners in crime... Ooh I like that- partners."

"Yeah," Kate said, and I think she liked that too, "Partners."

In that moment it felt like everything would be okay. Everything we'd ever known was falling apart around us but we were still fighting, in a crazy world filled with monsters like the wicked witches and dragons of our childhood we still had hope, and it felt like that was enough for now.

We walked back to Kate's house in almost-silence, the occasional crackling of leaves disconnecting the rhythm of our foot-fall.

I waited outside while she climbed back through the window, balancing and swivelling and prancing with ease. And then the window shut and I was alone, staring up at the towering red bricks and flowerpots with something like envy.

"Good morning Rick." I looked up in surprise, half-expecting to see Kate hanging out of her window, but instead was met with her smile and someone else's eyes.

"Mrs. Beckett... I was just..." I trailed of at the knowing glint in the eye, Johanna Beckett gave me the look I could never forget, the glint in her eye that she gave to Kate; that I hope I find in our children's eyes too some day. She looked across at me with her head two feet lower than mine, mouth teasing a grin at a joke that hadn't been told yet.

"I know exactly what you were doing, Rick dear. Do you think I was born yesterday?" she raised an eyebrow and the corner her lip expectantly, an expression that was so much Kate that lost my balance on the evenly-cut grass.

"um, no ma'am?"

"Call me Johanna, please, ma'am is my mother." She sighed learning into the doorframe, and I found myself wondering how someone could look so threatening in a flowery dressing-gown and slippers.

"Um right, okay, Johanna..."

She folded her arms and watched me for moment before she spoke in a calm voice that seemed to smooth over the hushed silence of the night, "I know you care about Katie, and I know it can be hard to tell, but you mean a lot to her too...

"I'm not sure what you mean..." I squinted, trying to understand why she was trying to give me dating advice at three thirty in the morning.

Johanna grinned, nodded at something I didn't understand yet, "okay Rick. But when you do understand I'll be right here waiting to tell you I told you so. If that's not something to look forward to then..." She trailed off and I swayed on my feet. "Anyway," she went on, "you should probably get going... You have school in a few hours."

She waved me off and I took a few stumbling steps away from the house, but before I was halfway down the drive she called me back, "just remember, Rick; sometimes it's worth the risk." and the last thought I can remember before the next memory begins is thinking that Kate's mother was as dramatic as mine.

* * *

><p>AN: Hi, I'm sorry it took so long to update this, I had a nasty case of writers block and so this chapter was pretty hard to write. Luckily for you guys Christmas for me is pretty much eating and sitting around the house in embarrassing knitted jumpers, so I managed to finish this chapter today; kind of a filler but it's getting good soon. But before the action will be a delayed Christmas chapter, and it's looking pretty fluffy! Thank you for your ongoing support and happy holidays!


	6. Under the mistletoe

**A/N: Castle still doesn't belong to me but sometimes I like to make up relatives for the characters. (Introducing Sam, The Carrot-Waving Lady and a few of Beckett's other relatives who are (sadly) figments of my imagination).**

* * *

><p>Sometime in the midst of spring the year before Beckett and I met, her grandfather died an expected death. One which was shockingly ordinary after 90 years of pulling rabbits out of hats and finding pennies behind pearl-studded ears. His death, as was often the case, was not worthy of the life up until that point; but was a very abrupt end to a otherwise remarkable story.<p>

Beckett mentioned him in passing; created the picture of a fun-loving optimist with a catching smile and bright eyes. But it wasn't until the last day of the winter-term that she told me that the upcoming Christmas would be the first without his booming presence.

It was during English that our most directionless conversations took place. When our bell-resembling teacher left the room for more strawberry tea, we took the time to discuss anything from the possibility of aliens to the meaning of the Mona Lisa, and any topic in-between.

This particular day I was testing out a magic trick I'd learnt from a guy at the local magic store.

"Hey Beckett! I think I'm getting the hang of this!" I exclaimed as I pulled knot after knot of colourful handkerchief out of my thinning coat sleeve.

Kate sighed and turned to me, raising an eyebrow as I finished my trick with a flourish.

She did that lip-biting thing that she really shouldn't do if she wants me to think about anything other than kissing her.

When I think about it, an embarrassing about of the time I spent with Kate was invested in remembering the first and only time we kissed and trying to work out if I'd imagined up the silkiness of her hair or the softness of her lips. Hating that she caught me so far by surprise that I didn't have time to take note of every detail.

Now every time she leant close I held my breath, but usually she'd tug my ear or reach for the TV remote.

"Needs some work." She said.

I flicked my eyes up from her mouth and caught her smiling.

I tutted and crossed my arms in mock-offence, "what d-+o you know, anyway? You want to give it a try, seeing as you're the expert here?"

Kate pulled a shiny gold coin out from behind my ear, grinning smugly at my expression. "My grandad was a great magician, Castle." She said in way of explanation. "He'd have put you to shame."

I looked up when she didn't say anything else, only to see her crossing her arms skeptically as I tried to fold up the handkerchiefs to the approaching sound of our teacher's ringing footsteps.

"Actually you remind me of him." She said, her voice softening.

"How long has it been?" I asked quietly, because she never opened up; which meant that every tiny detail she allowed me was precious.

"Since last spring. This is our the first Christmas without him..." She smiled gently, watching her cold fingers skim mine on the desk we shared as I tried to give her some of my warmth. "Every year he'd take me and my little cousin Sam to see the lights go up. My uncle and aunt spent the holidays abroad so we'd have a second Christmas Day at my grandparent's house a few weeks before the official day. And every year my mum and my nan would argue about how to cook the carrots; and my dad and Adam's parents, completely oblivious, complain about taxes over mulled wine. So one year my grandad took Sam and me to see the lights go up and it's been the same every year since. It was like our unspoken tradition."

"We could go." I said suddenly.

Kate was still not meeting my eyes and without looking I could tell that hers had gone soft; her whole face opaque with vulnerability.

"What?" She asked.

"You me and Sam. You know if you still wanted to go, in honor of his memory? I get it if you want it to be the two of you. But, well you know how my sparkling personality tends to lighten the mood." I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows.

Kate coughed out a laugh.

"And I have magic tricks." I added.

Beckett raised her eyebrows and clicked her pen, continuing to write the essay we'd been set for the lesson. I mildly considered that I should probably start mine.

I waited patiently while Kate tried not to smile.

"Beckett?"

She didn't look up. "You'll have to get practicing."

* * *

><p>At exactly 11am the next Saturday I was stood outside Kate's wide-set house, standing small in the colour-speckled garden. I looked back at the two extra cars taking up space in her drive, the other two leaning up against the pavement.<p>

Today the door was decorated with a thick green wreath, and I could see the lights from the Christmas tree from outside; hear the collected voices of her family. And suddenly I felt the raw biting of nervousness set low in my stomach.

I took a deep breath and knocked.

Her house had started to feel like a second home. Her mother always greeted me warmly; amazed me with the details of her recent cases over a cup of tea while we waited for Kate. Even her father had stopped watching me from a distance when I came round for dinner; before he'd continue chewing in lengthy silence even as I cracked joke after joke; revealing nothing, but in a recent visit I'd actually caught him smiling at Kate and me. And each time she laughed at something I'd said, or sung along to the radio, or skipped down the stairs, I feel like he forgave me for being charming and scruffy, and for openly staring at his gorgeous daughter. Because I made her happy.

This time, however, the door was opened my boy with hair like dandelion-fluff and a huge gappy-toothed smile.

"I'm Sam," he declared, paused, "Are you Katie's boyfriend?"

"Um."

He grinned, let out an evil laugh that reminded me of a villain in a Disney film. "That's what she said when I asked too." He reached up to grab my arm, "Come inside."

"Oh, uh, okay." I followed the wavering of his fluffy hair until we reached the living room. I faintly registered a family of Beckett's regarding me with the same amused smile I saw on Kate's face most days.

A greying woman with Johanna's eyes was waving half a carrot at a stout woman with wisps of fluffy blond hair escaping her bun and shouting something about "last year's soggy carrots."

A middle-aged man was drinking from a nearly empty glass with Beckett's dad; his legs too long for the coffee table he'd taken a seat on. A few screaming babies and sighing parents with Kate's nose here and her dad's ears there were cooped up on sofas that suddenly seemed too small; pointing at the TV, and complaining about Christmas songs or the quality of last year's Christmas pudding.

"Castle. You're here."

I looked up to find Kate now standing in the doorway, dressed in a thick fur-rimmed coat and a trailing scarf. Her thin frame was wound with layer upon layer of weather-appropriate attire, and I could just imagine the fight she put up when her dad said it was too cold to wear her leather jacket. Even then the remnants of the argument lined her features, and she just looked so cute, a stubborn frown creasing her gentle features. She walked towards me to the sound of wolf whistles and a responding "eww" from Sam.

"Your grandad was a smart man." I laughed as her family went back to arguing and drinking and pointing at the TV.

Kate flicked one long end of her scarf over her shoulders with a sigh, "Tell me about it."

* * *

><p>An little over an hour later I was pulling Kate onto the ice to the sound of Sam squealing and shrieking and spinning with much more control and balance than either or us had. And I felt like even if I did have any balance at all the way that Kate wavered on her feet and her fingers wound with mine would be enough to leave me falling.<p>

"Don't let go." She gasped over a laugh. Her cheeks were rosy with the cold and her eyes bright with childlike excitement when we took one and then two wobbly steps on the ice.

I squeezed her hand softly. "Never."

I pulled her after me and she grinned and let go of the railing.

Looking back I'm pretty amazed that we managed the whole hour on the ice that we'd promised Sam. Kate with an an amazing lack of balance considering the way she could climb out of her window like a cat, and me surrounded by the dizzying waft of cherries and trying not to think about how close she was.

We managed a few laps around the icerink, shouting words of encouragement to the back of Sam's fluffy blond head.

Slowly we managed to glide over the ice with almost-ease, but even as we reached our final lap her fingers remained intertwined with mine.

* * *

><p>"You guys suck." Sam told us a little while later over a steaming mug of hot chocolate. His whipped-cream moustache took away some of the blow.<p>

Kate rested her chin on top of her hand, her voice tinged with something soft when she handed him several napkins (which he ignored) and said, "oh yeah?"

"Yep." Sam said, taking a lengthy sip before continuing, "You ice-skate worse than Sara."

I looked over at Beckett who shrugged before I replied. "Okay, firstly, I personally think we did very well, considering the amount of people who took pleasure in skating past so quickly that we nearly fell over... And secondly, who's Sara?" I asked, earning a sharp kick from Beckett, "what?" I mouthed at her. She shook her head sharply while Sam regarded us with something like interest.

"We can play footsie later." I winked and she kicked me again. And I remember thinking that those boots must be made of steel, but it was worth the bruise for the hot-pink blush that fluttered over her cheeks.

"You two are gross." Sam declared, and then "Sara is my girlfriend."

Kate choked on her hot chocolate and I patted her back absent-mindedly, "you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes. Sara. Keep up!" He turned to Kate, "can I have another cookie?"

Kate nodded slowly and Sam grinned and jumped up, his fluffy hair bobbling when he stopped at the back of the queue.

"That kid is going places." I murmured at Kate who was watching Sam cautiously, like at any moment he might age ten years and decide he wants to major in bio-chemistry and marry a supermodel.

"He has a girlfriend."

"Apparently so. You need to get with it, unless you want to be the only single Beckett this Christmas."

Her eyes turned a full circle before coming back to meet mine. "Ah, too bad I don't have any good candidates." She teased.

"Ouch, Beckett. Ouch."

"Oh no you're right." Kate said thoughtfully, and my ears pricked up despite myself.

She took a small sip of her coffee before continuing, "The guy who sleeps through English is pretty cute."

I groaned, "Snoring Keith? The guy who will not wake up no matter how many bits of paper you throw at him?"

"Yep." She grinned. Her laughing eyes were swirled with darkness when she went on, "what can I say? I like a guy who's good in be-" her face froze and then broke into a pleasant smile, "did you get your cookie?"

I looked up to see Sam approaching and had to smother a laugh behind the back of my hand. Kate shot me her worst look.

Sam nodded and took his seat opposite us in one of the squishy chairs, his small feet dangling above the ground.

"They didn't have any small ones." Sam explained as he took a satisfied bite of the huge double chocolate-chip cookie.

And I remember thinking that this kid was definitely going places.

"What were you guys talking about?"

* * *

><p>The air outside smelt like Christmas pudding and frost and I breathed all it in on a sigh.<p>

I love Christmas; always have. Something about the smells and the tastes and the way strangers smile on the street and trees stand inside tiny houses lit up like the sky. Oh and the presents. Of course the presents.

The cards we swapped earlier that day hoped for a happy holiday, but the gifts said "I believe in you." the way that gifts should. That year Kate's eyes shone when she opened her plastic detective badge, and then the whiteboard and pen.

I wrote in the shiny new notebook she gave me until the pages ran out; drunk from the mug marked with the name she gave me every day. I actually cried when it smashed, sitting next to the broken pieces of it without moving, and scaring poor Alexis half to death. She replaced it the next day; came home with a box packed with polystyrene and one of the merchandise mugs I'd based on Kate's gift. But it wasn't the same.

I could feel Kate's presents wrapped and nudging me though my backpack as stared at the amazingly dull tree that occupied a large amount of the cut-off street.

Even above the huge crown we could hear Sam's excited chattering. He gasped at the sound of a booming voice on the intercom that, according to Kate, made the same speech every year; something about family and love and thankfulness that actually made complete sense to me. It was something about Kate's smile... and her eyes questioning mine, because, oops, yeah, I'd been staring. Again.

When they turned the lights on Beckett was silent for a moment, the clogs in her brain working in a way Sam was lucky not to notice. He grinned and cheered with the rest of the oblivious crowd as the huge tree was lit up in a way that was both blinding and beautiful.

Beckett wasn't looking at me, an icy expression that had nothing to do with the cold stopped her features from crumbling. But wasn't enough to freeze the tears.

My whole body was buzzing with the need to comfort her, to reach out to short-tempered, sarcastic Beckett who teased me mercilessly. It looked like she was getting further and further away with every flicker of the too-bright bulbs.

Kate was beautiful in her thick winter coat, and I knew I wouldn't be able to sum up how I felt even if I had the time or words to tell her. But in that moment I had neither, so I said, "What a fire hazard." And caught Kate's hand for the second time that day.

I could feel her warmth through her thick purple gloves; circled my thumb over the soft cotton, and some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to drain away. And my heart-swelled because this was Beckett, and she was cradling my hand like she never wanted to let go.

Kate sniffed loudly, "Stupid, tacky, buy one get one half price bulbs." She agreed.

Sam pulled me back as we got onto Kate's street, whispering loudly while Beckett pretended not to notice.

"I like you Castle, even if you do suck at ice-skating. And if Katie didn't like you she'd have punched you by now. So you should kiss her. But on the mouth. Because I missed a girl's mouth once and she wasn't happy about it." Sam told me seriously.

Dating advice from an eight year old. I'd have been disturbed had he not been pretty smart for someone who didn't know his five times table.

I was halfway though asking him where his lips landed when I realised he was running. He ran all of the rest of the way to the house, leaving Beckett and I alone.

"What did Sam say to you?"

"He said that you like me." I gloated, not even trying to stop the wide grin spreading across my cheeks.

Kate raised an eyebrow, and of course she knew there was more.

"And that I like you." I allowed more quietly

I realised numbly that we had reached the door to her house; that the curtains were shut and we were finally alone.

Sam had beat us inside, the heavy slam of the door flicking the mistletoe he'd tied to the knocker sideways. I watched it swing back and forth, feeling Kate's strong gaze on me.

"And yet you haven't kissed me since that day in the park."

I looked down at her, stumbling and stupid in a way only Kate makes me. "No... No? W-well I..."

My mind raced with the idea that maybe she'd been waiting for me to kiss her. Which meant that we really had a lot of catching up to do. As in all of Christmas connected at the lip. And maybe a little of new year. Or maybe just the rest of our lives. With maybe a few seconds of breathing time.

"Well?" She asked, her eyes giving nothing away. And when she stepped closer her hands brushed against mine. The friction of her soft skin was a sudden shock; the air around us thickening until it was hard to breathe.

"I didn't know if..." I trailed off with the heavy flutter of her eyelashes. The opening glide of the dark curtain of Kate's hair tickling my neck. Her breath heavy and warm and soft at my cheeks.

"Castle." She brushed our noses with soft Eskimo kisses, blinking up at me with eyes I wanted to fall into; as if she had no idea that my knees were weakening and my heart was racing, and I'd been holding my breath since the door slammed. The sparkle there a sharp contrast that said she knew; that she was the cat and I was the mouse, and I was happy to be caught and she knew it.

I let out a choked breath, "right, yeah I should just-"

"Shut up and kiss me?"

The mistletoe, her words, the uneven beating of my heart and the way the snow was starting to fall. I internally groaned. "So many clichés." I sighed, leaning down to press my forehead against hers.

I stumbled when she pulled back just slightly and mimed reaching for the door, smiling teasingly. "Oh I'll just go inside then." She whispered.

I groaned out a laugh "don't you dare Beckett." In one swift movement I caught her arm, pulling her flush against me; and I could feel the warmth of her through the four layers her dad made her wear.

"It is cheesy..." She breathed, half-teasing, half-serious.

"I'll make the exception for you." And I would; I'd kiss her in the rain, when the clock strikes a new year, and I'd kiss her over a bouquet of roses on Valentine's Day. This was Kate after all.

"Hmm, how noble of you." She murmured, lifting one eyebrow and the corner of her lips.

"You know me, Beckett." And all I could think was that she did know me; she knew me better than anyone and she was still here, and she wanted me to kiss her.

Her response was muffled by the press of my lips, my hands wound deep in the silky locks of her hair and the delicate toes of her heavy boots pointed firmly into the snow when she rose up to kiss me. She tasted like the dark burn of coffee and the gentle sweetness of vanilla.

Her gloved hands didn't move when she pulled away, her slim arms wound thick around my neck; keeping me close.

The continuous flurry of snow left glimmering silver dust in her dark hair, but in that moment everything was warm; each unique snowflake screaming the possibilities.

Kate didn't believe in fairytales; and I could barely feel my toes, but the press of her lips on mine was electric; and I had enough magic for the both of us.

If you asked me then what me and Beckett were, I'd have told you I didn't know. Because I hadn't realised yet that you could have a girlfriend who you want to spend every minute of the day with, or a best friend who made you seriously consider giving up oxygen; because nothing was as crucial as the press of their lips against yours. But if you'd asked me where I saw myself in ten years, I'd have told you I didn't know; that all I knew was that wherever I stood Beckett was right there next to me, and in my mind she always would be. Because Kate was already the last person I wanted to see when I closed my eyes, and we finished our sentences on the first day we met; and I didn't know what that meant, or how rare it was to find, but I knew I couldn't imagine my life without her. Even as my writer's brain created worlds with Russian spies and mobsters Kate didn't change, because she was already perfect. And I didn't know who I wanted to be or the life I wanted to lead, but I knew that any world without Kate; without her smile and her laugh and her story, just wasn't worth writing.


End file.
